


The One Left Behind

by SubDeanIsCuter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bi Dean Winchester, Dead Sam Winchester, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Sad Dean Winchester, Sub Dean Winchester, Threesome Vibes M/M/F, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Voyeurism, exibitionism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 16:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12279816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubDeanIsCuter/pseuds/SubDeanIsCuter
Summary: Dean and Sam find themselves overpowered by Lucifer with no way to save themselves. Dean struggles to find his way through life alone.





	1. Left Behind

**Left Behind**

The lights flickered, and the basement fell into a false light. The cold from the cement floor seeped into Dean's legs. Damp shadows laced the air, and a mustiness lingered. All sound had stopped. The blood spread from Dean's right leg where rebar had pierced it. The metal stood twisted in a knot, and Dean couldn't move from the floor. His angel blade was to his right, resting against a metal drum ten feet away. Every time the lights pulsed brighter, the blade caught the flash and reflected it onto Dean's hand, almost as a joke at the emptiness.

His right hand still held onto the metal bar in his leg, even with two of his fingers broken. His side bled slowly where the demon blade has glanced off his ribs; his shirt was heavy with blood and darkening. Dean looked like he was melting into the shadows. Bottom lip split, the blood mixed with the tears running down to his jaw. He only knew he was screaming when he had to take a breath and scream again.

The silence bled into slow motion as Dean watched the scene in front of him. Lucifer held Sam against the stone wall, his hand gripping Sam's throat. The demon blade was lodged in the right side of Sam's chest, and the blood soaked the floor below him. His chest barely moved when he breathed, and his eyes stared past Dean into the darkness.

"Well, Sammy, if you don't want to accept being my vessel, I guess you just grew too righteous for me. And you know what they do to those tricky little believers, right?" Lucifer dropped Sam to crumple on the ground. Dean tried again to reach Sam, but the rebar burned into his flesh as a reminder that he could do nothing. Lucifer grabbed Sam's foot and lifted it against the wall above his head.

"Warned you not to 'cross' me, Sam."

Dean's soul tore with every swing of the hammer. Lucifer placed six nails in each of Sam's feet to hold him suspended above the ground. Every time he pounded a nail into Sam, the vibrations passed through the bar in Dean's leg. The pain clung to Dean's flesh, swam in it, burrowed to his bones. The scene pressed into his eyes, holding them open, crawling to the dark room behind.

As Lucifer stretched out Sam's arms, Dean could see Sam was still awake. The blood had spread over Sam's neck and down his face. His hair was matted with it, stuck in crags and twisting in the dirt on the floor.

After nailing his hands to the walls, Lucifer stepped back to admire his artwork. Sam was displayed in a sick upside-down crucifixion for Dean to take in.

"Just a few last touches to make it perfect," Lucifer announced.

He pulled the knife from Sam's chest so he could remove his shirt. He ripped the front open and used the knife to cut open the sleeves. Sam hung bare chested against the walls, and the lights continued to flash on and off. The movement was jagged as Dean watched Lucifer plunge the knife back into Sam's chest a few inches to the side of the first.

"Look away, sweet Sam. Look away."

Lucifer turned to Dean, flashed a smile of child-like glee, and twisted Sam's head around backwards with a snap.

*******

**Three Months Later**

The hotel room was dark with the sour smell of garbage, alcohol, and body odor. Any available surface was cluttered with beer bottles, some collecting by the bed. Three empty bottles of tequila sat under the bedside lamp.

Dean slept across the bed, breathing quickly, his face contorted in pain. His chest was covered in sweat, and the sheets were twisted around his feet, holding them in place. He wasn't wearing anything, and his soiled clothing sat in a pile by the bathroom door, a mixture of worn boxers, t-shirts, plaid, and blue jeans. A cockroach was climbing to the top in the darkness.

Dean's struggling grew more intense. The sheets continued to pull tighter around his legs, and he started to mumble. Every few seconds his mumbling would cut off by moans that resembled calling out for someone. He began to almost thrash in the bed.

Where he wasn't a second before, Cas now stood beside the bed, his hand reaching for Dean's shoulder as he struggled. A pale light surrounded Cas as he gripped Dean, directly over the handprint he left puling Dean from Hell. The light traced the outline of his wings as well, and the room shifted as a slight breeze passed over Dean's body. He slowly quieted as Cas held his shoulder, his movement slowing as Cas brushed him thumb gently over Dean's shoulder, trailing a soft indentation in his flesh.

Cas took in the sight of Dean now resting across the bed. Dean's body no longer dripped sweat, and his muscles were relaxed. Cas scanned Dean's skins for any signs of cuts or damage, but there was nothing besides the scars on his wrists and legs. As his breathing deepened, Dean's dick began to grow slightly from Cas's grip on his shoulder. Cas finally stepped away, and with a small gust of air, he was gone.

*******

Dean woke to an almost dark room, the light fighting around the edges of the blinds. He expected his head to be pounding, but it wasn't. Maybe his body was finally adjusting to a bottle of tequila before bed. His muscles didn't seem to bother him like they had the last few months, and the ache in his two fingers had quieted for the moment. If it wasn't for the images of Sam continually flashing in front of his eyes, he might have said he felt okay, normal even.

This hotel room had become his home over the last month. They never asked to enter the room as long as he paid the bill on time every week. That suited Dean since he was kicked out of nine hotels in two weeks before he found this one. Ever since Cas had found him nearly bled to death in that basement, he hadn't managed to bring himself to do more than survive. And he wasn't doing that well either.

He knew Lucifer was out there still, collecting followers, working to take hell and spread it over the planet. And he knew he had no way to stop him. Dean had failed. Heaven had failed. There wasn't anything left for Dean to do.

His slid to the side of the bed and took in the room. The smell assaulted his nose instantly, and he had to gag. He never would have lived like this before; well, with Sammie anyway.

He covered his mouth and nose with his bicep and stumbled over to the window. The light pressed around the edges of the blinds still, and the dust was hovering around it, like hungry insects. His hand hesitated as he remembered long weeks in hotel rooms with his little brother while Dad was away. Sammie was always fascinated by the beams of light and dust.

The kid would stand by the window for hours swinging his hands through the light, watching the dust dart out of the way only to be sucked back into the light. Sometimes he would lay on the floor studying the movements of the particles through the air until he fell asleep on the warm carpet. Dean would always stay quiet when this happened; he knew how much the kid struggled to sleep at night when their Dad was gone. Sometimes Dean also used those times to jerk off in the bathroom, but that wasn't that often. By the time he was fourteen, he was finding girls from school to meet in the evening. Never too late though. He never let Sammie alone in the rooms through the night. Sammie was above everything else.

Dean looked down to see that tears had been dropping onto his chest. The droplets clung to his hair and the light clung to them. He breathed in desperately, and his body shook. His left arm shot out to grab the cord for the blinds, but he missed, and instead the he tore the yellowed plastic slats right off the wall.

The sunlight spread over his bare skin instantly, but the warmth spilled across his chest gradually, down his stomach, around his shoulders. His eyes squinted and he fumbled to open the window. The breeze outside raced over his skin and drew goosebumps, starting at his chest and rippling outwards. The staleness of the room began to change as Dean felt his heart pump with force. He hadn't felt this alive in months.

It was like his nerves had reawakened in his body, like they were brand new. He could feel every muscle, every inch of tendon and skin as it wrapped around his legs, his chest, his arms, his ass. The carpet pressed into his feet, and he dug his toes into it deeper. He began to run his hands over his skin, his chest. He felt charged just feeling the life in his body.

The rough skin on his palms ground against his nipples, and it sent a charge straight to is cock. A moan escaped his lips. He hadn't jerked off in weeks. He had lost his porn after breaking both laptops. No matter what he did, they seemed to never connect to the Wi-Fi. The alcohol hadn't helped, leaving him depressed and exhausted. He just didn't have the strength to jack off, no desire.

But that was gone now. His head was clear, and his dick was throbbing from the sun and the air and the open window, leaving dean exposed to the world in his living glory. With a quick motion, he licked both his thumbs and began to rub over his nipples with more force. Again he moaned and his body responded to everything. The pleasure rushed over him, every inch, leaving his hair on end from his neck to his arms to his chest to his legs.

His cock was like steel now. Precum dripped thickly from it, and he slid his hand down the trail of fur from his stomach to the base of his cock. He gripped the shaft, pulling the skin back from the head and finally began to slowly move his hips, thrusting into his fist.

If anyone was near the door, he was sure they heard him begin to grunt. He let his body take over and he couldn't stop what was happening even if he wanted to. No images played in his mind; it was just Dean, connecting with his body, connecting every nerve and muscle to his cock. He was lost in the ecstasy of pleasure.

His breathing got ragged as he felt his orgasm rush forward suddenly. It shot from behind his navel down to his dick, and suddenly he was screaming in pleasure as he shot robe after rope of cum onto the window in front of him. The thump of every shot against the glass mixed with his heart beat, and he lost all sense of being in that moment. He couldn't feel the carpet or the wind; he just felt the pleasure pulsing in his body.

He stumbled backwards onto the bed, gasping. Steady moans still leaving his mouth. He whimpered from the afterglow and downward spiral. But the sheets rubbing against his skin, his every nerve, kept his body feeling.

Still whimpering, Dean realized his hand was still pumping his hard cock. He had shot the biggest load he could remember over that window, and he was still writhing in horny pleasure on the bed. The endorphins were still in his blood, and as he continued to stroke and rub his body against the sheets. He felt like he was drifting above everything.

The hand that had been playing with his nipples, leaving them sore, now dropped to his balls. He gripped his cock in slow, steady strokes, and began to pull and play with his sack. He moaned loudly as the pain mixed with the pleasure and forced his eyes to roll back. He had never been this in tune, this connected to his body, and he took in every moment. He was aware of his hands, rough, toned hands, working every point of pleasure he had. Again, his hand dropped, and this time began to rub his thighs, pressing his fingers roughly over the muscles running below his cock.

A deeper pleasure was building behind his groin, and he began to rub harder, rolling back slightly to give his hand better access. And before he realized it, he was rubbing over his asshole, mumbling incoherent words between the moans. He pressed against his hole, and his ass responded to every sensation. He felt like he was aroused even deeper than just his cock had ever felt.

He lost a sense of time, he just knew he was stroking without stop, and then sucking on his fingers. His moans vibrated over them as he coated them with spit. Then they were back at his hole, rubbing, pressing. Suddenly his finger slipped inside and his orgasm exploded without warning. He was screaming again, and his cum was shooting over his head onto the wall, then over his face, his chest. He was still stroking, moaning and screaming and finally licking the cum from his lips.

His cock began to soften and grow sensitive. He drew his hands to his chest, lightly rubbing the cum into his skin as he lay spread over the bed, eyes still closed, chasing an orgasm that left him unable to think.

Slowly his breathing began to go back to normal, and he took a slow, deep breath to center himself again in the present moment.

"Hello, Dean," Cas said from the beside the window.


	2. Mixed Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Cas's sudden appearance, Dean struggles to find direction. Some new experiences in the laundry room open him to new ideas.

**Mixed Emotions**

“What the fuck!” Dean yelped. He scrambled to cover himself with something, but the blanket had fallen to the floor while he was jerking off. He finally ripped the corner of the sheet from the bed, grasping what small amount he could in front of his semihard, cum-covered dick. 

Cas stood by the window in his typical trench coat, eyes cast to the side, pointedly avoiding staring directly at dean. His hands were clenched stiffly in his sleeves. Even in his panic, Dean registered that Cas was wearing clothes that showed off his body well, even in a trench coat.

“I-I’m sorry, Dean. I was, I was just wanting to check in on how you were doing.” 

His voice reflected a hesitation that Dean had missed when he first announced his presence. As Dean listened to Cas stutter an explanation, his skin screamed its nakedness into his mind. The cum was still firmly in his one-week stubble, and what amount was covering his chest began to run downward over his abs. His nerves recorded the trails with hyperawareness. 

Dean looked at the awkwardness of Cas tripping over his words and relaxed. Innocent-angel Cas was definitely more embarrassed in this moment than he was. Why had he worried there was something more to Cas’s sudden appearance? This certainly wasn’t the first time Cas had dropped in unannounced when Dean was about to or had just finished spanking the monkey. At least there weren’t any Busty Anime Babes lying around for the angel to comment on.

With a sigh, Dean cut off Cas, motioning with his free hand for Cas to turn around. Cas shut his mouth instantly and turned to face the wall. Dean thought he saw the profile of an extra-full pair of slacks when Cas twisted around, but he figured he must be imagining things.

As Cas faced the wall, Dean dropped the sheet and pushed himself off the bed. He walked awkwardly to the bathroom door and dug through the pile of dirty clothes for gym shorts. Looking over his shoulder, Dean quickly wiped the cum from his chest and face with a pair of boxers before pulling on the shorts. Finally, he pulled a plain gray t-shirt over his head, hoping the ketchup stain on the front wasn’t too noticeable. 

Dean cleared his throat and Cas turned to face him. As Dean felt Cas’s eyes give him a once-over, Cas’s mouth flattened into a line.

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself, Dean.” The statement was short and left Dean looking down. He felt those angel eyes staring into him. Deeper. He knew Cas wasn’t just talking about his body. The memories started clawing at the edges of Dean’s vision, and Dean wondered what his soul must look like. Was it whole or was it torn and ragged. Was it dripping a black sludge at his feet? Or was it torn and crumpled like black paper, the rust color of dried blood spreading over it in waves? 

He stared at the carpet as it turned to concrete. The room grew darker, and Dean could feel the blood in his temples counting out his heart beat. _Thump. Thump. Thump._ A voice was speaking, but all he could feel was the cold of the concrete climbing up his legs, punching a bloody hole in his calf. The pounding in his temples changed to hammer blows. _Thud. Thud. Thud._ Dark blood crept toward his feet—brown hairs mixed in it. His mind screamed for him to run, but he just looked on as the blood spilled closer. 

Dean was being shaken, and the vision dissolved back into the old motel room. Cas shook Dean’s shoulder until his eyes cleared and he looked up. Tears clung to Dean’s jaw, wet lines drawn down his face. 

“I can’t . . . I can’t-can’t . . . I can’t . . .” Dean repeated, eyes darting left to right. Sam was dead. Sam was always going to be dead. How could he have forgotten even for a moment? How did he feel alive for a moment? Cas had reminded him. Cas had brought everything crashing back. The room was too bright—the sunlight exposing him, reminding him he was alive and not dead in a blessed, numb darkness. 

But Dean felt himself calming down. Cas’s hand still held his shoulder, and he felt the warmth touching his heart, slowing it. With difficulty, he looked up into Cas’s face.  
“I can’t keep going,” Dean whispered. He fell forward into Cas’s arms, sobbing. And once more since it happened, with Dean having lost count long ago, his soul broke apart. 

*******

Two days had passed. The bedside clock read 2:27 a.m., and a slow tapping filled the room as the tree outside pushed against the window. Dean twisted on the bed, the sheets circling his feet, his right thigh, moving up and binding his arms under him. He was sweating, his clothes torn off from his fever dream. His body rebelled against the alcohol he had forced it to drink. He was inconsolable after trying to interact with Cas. After collapsing on the bed, Dean had sent Cas away. 

He hadn’t eaten since then, barely dragging himself to the liquor store for more tequila. He didn’t watch TV, he didn’t speak to himself. He lay on the bed for two days, drinking and staring at the walls. The alcohol kept everything hazy, kept the walls from turning to bloody crosses. 

Sweat soaked the sheets around his body, covering his skin, coating every inch. He struggled to free himself, but his body was weak, he couldn’t escape the linen chains. 

And again, Cas appeared beside the bed. This time the angel placed a hand on Dean’s chest and another at his waist, pressing lightly down on the covering of hair that continued downward. The air shifted as his unseen wings gathered around Dean’s body. A light around Cas’s hands seeped into Dean’s flesh. The hunter’s breathing slowed, his sweat disappearing into the air. His dreams calmed and evaporated with the moisture. Cas stepped backwards, watching as Dean slept quietly now. Again, Cas watched as color returned to Dean’s skin, as his body healed itself once more—health pumping through his veins. 

Dean’s cock reacted to his body’s recovery, standing hard over his stomach, throbbing with every heartbeat. Cas was torn, his emotions shifting from caring for Dean’s recovery to staring transfixed as Dean leaked a slow drizzle of precum onto his stomach. His foreskin pulled back, exposing the purple head. Cas felt ashamed as he stared at Dean, taking in the forbidden site, writing it in his memories. 

Dean rolled over, exposing his back and ass. Cas felt his dick try to break through his slacks, rigidly fighting against the fabric. He had never been this hard, this excited before. Cas reached down to adjust himself right as Dean began thrusting slowing into the bed. Cas froze, his hand grasping his dick through his pants. It took everything for him to suppress his moan. As Cas watched, Dean’s back and shoulders tightened and flexed as his ass rocked back and forth slowly. Dean’s arms and hands tightened around his pillow as his face pressed into it. The tree no longer tapped the window, and the room held silent as if focusing on Dean just like Cas was. 

Dean’s breathing grew heavier and he began to raggedly moan, his voice lower than Cas had ever heard it—the hunters moan was filled with a primal lust. Without waking, Dean’s knees slowly sunk deeper into the mattress and his thrusting became longer and faster. 

“ _UGGHH…UGHHHH…UGhhhhhhh….UGHHHHHHH!_ ” With a forceful finish, Dean’s legs, back, and ass stiffened in a final thrust, his whole body shaking.

Cas lost all control realizing his fist was still squeezing his disk, and without being able to stop it, he shot his first load into his slacks. Cas felt his first orgasm flood from his cock to his brain like a tidal wave. His cum continued to soak the front of his pants, and with a pleasured moan, he disappeared from the room.

Dean jolted awake, thinking he had heard someone, but only found the trickling pleasure of a spent orgasm dripping through his limbs. In a daze, he reached beneath him to find the sheets wet. He brought his hand back out with a light coating of semen. The scent charged through his nostrils, and he licked it quickly from his hand, sucking it off his fingers. His body screamed exhaustion once more, and his felt himself drift back to sleep.

*******

The next morning, Dean rolled over wide awake. The same energy from three days ago was in him again, and he knew he needed to do something today. He wasn’t sure what, but he knew he needed to be ready for it.

He gathered up his clothing to wash in the motel’s machines just down the hall. It was still early, so he didn’t bother putting on any clothes. He carried the pile of rank clothes to the machine, threw in some detergent from the coin-operated dispenser on the wall, and hit the start button. He stayed at the front of the machine for a moment, wondering where his sudden drive to do something came from. He knew he should feel sad, he knew he should miss Sammy, but in this moment the feeling was dull, like he was hearing it call from across a lake.

A young couple walked in the room, headed toward the machine on the opposite end of the row. The woman wore Pink pajama pants, and the man was shirtless with a pair of worn sweatpants—a small hole in the inner thigh and worn knees. The couple stuttered a heartbeat in their conversation as they realized Dean was standing there with nothing on, resting on the machine with his ass sticking. Dean wasn’t sure where the cocky self-confidence game from, but he turned toward the couple, still leaning slightly on the machine. 

“Morning, beautiful,” he said politely to the women as she blushed and looked away. The man looked like he was about to interject something when Dean’s green eyes looked right at him. “And good morning to you too, stud,” Dean called with a wink. Dean watched slightly amused as the man’s mouth dropped open slightly in surprise and his cock hardened instantly in his sweat pants, sticking outward a good seven inches. Dean’s own cock thickened slightly, drooping in a heavy arc over his balls. 

With a large smile and a nod, Dean turned and walked slowly out of the room, his cock swinging lazily in front of him. As he reached his motel room, he heard sharp moans coming from the laundry room and a steady thumping of something heavy against one of the metal washing machines. He chuckled as he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The room was dim and reeked of alcohol and body odor. He slid the window open and worked his way around the room tossing liquor bottles and beer cans in the trash. When the junk had all been cleared away, he opened his door to place the trash bags outside for pickup. He looks down the hallway to see the couple from the laundry room pressed up against the open doorway a few feet down the hall, facing away from him. 

The woman’s pants were gone, and she had a hand between her legs, fingering herself. What Dean didn’t expect to see was her pressed up behind the now naked man as he thrust himself against the door frame. Her other hand was roughly fingering his asshole as he cried out. Dean realized the sharp moans he had heard earlier had come from the man, and he found himself slowing stroking his now hard dick as he watched. 

The woman shifted, and Dean saw she pulled a small vibrator out of herself before thrusting it inside of the man. He shouted out in shock and began shaking against the door frame, his cum shooting against the side of the hallway and over the carpet. The woman turned toward Dean and smiled at seeing him stroking himself. She nodded in the man’s direction as if offering him up for Dean. 

Dean suddenly felt a shyness wash over him, flushing his cheeks. He shook his head in a thank-you-but-no-thanks gesture, nodded his head in a polite sign of goodbye and thank you for the show before retreating into his room and closing the door.

He wasn’t sure what had just happened, or why he had enjoyed it so much, but without cuming, he felt a satisfaction in his body. He leaned back against the closed door, slightly out of breath. His cock was still half hard, but he didn’t feel the need to finish at the moment. He felt an odd pull to get ready for the day. His mind telling him something good was going to happen. Shaking his head in almost disbelief, he walked toward the bathroom to take a shower.


End file.
